My Gentle Loving Monster
by Scatterheart Angel
Summary: Widow Lucas knew true love. Her werewolf lover never forced her to do anything except reconsider her perception of him. Can she love him despite feeling pushed by fate?
1. This is Adulthood

My Gentle Loving Monster

Summary: Widow Lucas knew true love. Her werewolf lover never forced her to do anything except reconsider her perception of him. Can she love him without feeling pushed by fate?

Granny's story could be squishy: the wolf may have raped her and left her with a baby (no one would want to read that!) I choose to believe that he was her true love but their meeting was unfortunate and he spant the rest of his life making it up to her. It's key that Red's grandfather doesn't come across as misogynistic, domineering or chauvinistic: it's too easy for werewolf fiction to drift that way. Lecture me if that's happening!

Here we are: how prudish, cold, prejudice Dinah fell in love with a messy, unsophisticated, wild werewolf. Enjoy :)

Themes: Romance/Tragedy/Action

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Chapter 1: This is Adulthood

Men who are slaves to the moon are as soulless as their wolf counterparts. Or so Dinah Lucas was told by her brothers: it was a tired reminder for defiant girls. She understood their hate the night their blood painted the snow red. This was the mantra she repeated as the wolf came close enough so that Dinah could feel its hot putrid breath; its sickly yellow eyes swallowed her.

It paused: like the moment of silence between thunder and lightning. Tears dripped down her cheeks. Wheezing breaths replaced the prayers she had practiced. The monster surged forward as a flood of fur and muscle. Its jaws clamped on her forearm. The pain of teeth puncturing flesh was _nothing_ in comparison to the sensation of invasion in the deepest vats of her being. Everything faded to red.

She woke to the sound of metal scraping. It was easy to lie still, pretending it was a normal day; that she hadn't watched her family being minced alive. The sharp throb of the bite mark pieced her fantasy. Dinah passed her hands over her wet cheekbones. She blinked away tears faster than she could wipe them, her quiet sobs interrupted the silence like gasps for air.

Someone had dressed her wounds and tucked her in bed. A silhouette moved beyond her frosted window. A man was outside. The girl ran through the house and through the open front door.

His back was facing towards her. Blood stained his blond hair, boots and hands. in front of him eight piles of blood bone and guts fermented the snow. _There were her father's scarred hands, one of Malcolm's long legs, the hat she knitted for Gavin._ The monster hadn't touched their faces: their expressions were affixed with jaws open. Dinah brought her hand to her mouth as her stomach acid churned.

"You're... burying my family?" She swallowed tears.

The stranger paused. His shoulders angled towards her. He met her gaze with tender brown eyes. "Yes. Please remain inside while I finish. We will pray over their remains together."

She remained as a statue of misery. The young man steadily dug eight pits. He arranged their bodies in the graves as a toymaker would organise the pieces of a doll. Dinah watched eight pairs of dull eyes disappear beneath earth: this moment would be ingrained in her memory forever.

"Would you like to go first?"

Eight mounds slept adjacent to her mother's wooden cross. It was a fitting arrangement. "Father, brothers; you fought bravely against a vicious monster. Though you were not successful I promise your efforts were not in vain. I wish used those moments before you died to tell you how cared for you, I love you."

The stranger's hand's gripped the shovel tightly. He changed the position of his feet.

"Men, your bravery is to be admired. You fought to protect what you love, may you pass to the over side quietly knowing you have succeeded." He whispered, like the breath of a pilgrim before God: "_May you always run free beneath the moon's pale light._"

Dinah thought nothing of his eccentricity; he did after all look like a young huntsman.

The stranger chauffeured her inside. He sat her on the couch. She was vaguely aware of the shuffling of pans and the cackle of the fire in the stove The fruits of his labour sat on her father's woodcrafted tray: overcooked eggs and oatmeal (which looked surprisingly eatable). Her tongue grated against the roof of her mouth.

"Aren't you hungry?"

She ignored him. "Who are you? I'm Dinah Lucas."

"Tristan." No surname... Dinah's suspicion was piqued.

"How did you come to be here?"

He turned his head away, his jaws were clenched together. "It would be so easy to lie to you to spare my feelings," he said darkly. "I can't run this time. Not after what I did to you."

A second glance was enough to shatter the optimism of a girl on the cusp of womanhood. She searched his features for guilt: his eyes were a warm brown yet their flinty glint bespoke loss of morality. His cheeks were as sharp a starving man.

Dinah's lips peeled from her teeth. She shuddered, "What have you done?"

"I'm the wolf. I slaughtered your family. I sunk my teeth into your –" Dinah walloped him with the tray. Her breakfast and shards of the plate scattered across polished wood.

"You're a monster!" She screamed.

"Werewolves—" She punched, "should be culled," She kicked, "like pests!"

He didn't fight back, even when she smashed a lampshade against his chest.

"So that's it. You're here to finish what you started. I'm gonna fight you!"

Tristan pinned Dinah's arms against her ribs and sat her down. His irises were drenched with gold. Shivers circumnavigated her body. "Listen! Last night was an exception. I almost never lose control of my wolf. But when your family cornered me it unleashed instincts too entrenched for me to deny. I'm incredibly guilty."

"Murderer..." She hissed.

"I have more to say." He gently peeled the sleeve of her nightdress from her bandaged arm. "When I saw you lying helpless in the snow I gained some consciousness. I pitied you deeply. My wolf misunderstood my feelings and marked you."

He continued: "Marking is a werewolf's tradition for recognizing a potential mate. A male wolf will be perverse in his mission to claim his mate. It's a terrible fate for a woman."

"You're a disgusting pervert! I'd rather die than accept you carte blanche!"

"Tomorrow I'll come by and drop off as much money as I can spare. You need to move far away from here: somewhere my wolf can't follow you. I can cross oceans but I will always return to find you."

"Get out. I don't want to see your face again."

"I'm so sorry." He didn't meet her eyes.

He left. Dinah watched his red shirt wade through the fog and disappear. The next morning a small purse of coins appeared on her porch. She pocketed it, rationalising that she would need it. Thoughts of full moons, of him returning, were farthest in her mind.


	2. A Moment of Generosity

Thanks for the review :) I coldn't have Tristan stalking Dinah until she gives in, so I chose to go in this direction:

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Chapter 2: A Moment of Generosity

Three years later Dinah was eighteen, strong, healthy as a horse, and independent. He found her.

The full moon hung like a pendent on the sky. There would be no sleep for the anxious tonight. That terrible scar on her arm twitched with anticipation. Dinah a hand through her sweat-permeated hair. Tonight was the night. Her scar tissue resonated with pain under the moonbeams.

The young woman's fists clenched over the stock of her crossbow. Despite the closed door, the waft of warm fur and summer nights seeped through the cracks. She could smell him; he made her heart cry in terrible ways.

From the thin window that secured her, she spied a bone-white wolf traversing foliage like Cerberus slinking through the garden of Tartarus. It looked at her, yellow eyes to blue, languidly watching her. She ran to the door and wretched it open. Her crossbow was steady: her aim was true.

"I don't want to explain the mess you'll leave behind when I kill you. Leave. Now!"

The monster was a stone's throw away. It lolled its tongue. It barked sharply, as if challenging her to shoot. Dinah jumped out of her skin. The blood of her family rained her vision.

"I won't let you hurt me again." She said steadily.

For every empty moment she has imagined how she would kill him. Yet, when stood before her, _asking _for her to shoot; her fingers could not press the trigger.

Paw after paw dimpled the overgrown grass as the beast surged forward. He stopped close enough that she could see yellowed-pointed teeth slick with saliva. She never lowered her crossbow, yet she didn't fire a shot. In the years that came to pass Dinah understood that she could have shot him, but she didn't want to. He may have slaughtered her family like stock, but underneath the monster was a man; and he didn't deserve to die like an animal.

Their stalemate was passed when sunbeams bounced off his pelt. Fur descended into skin, except where it lengthened into dirty bond curls. Somehow (miraculously) clothes cloaked the melding lump of muscle shrinking into flesh.

Tristan lay on his stomach. His hair was flipped, his feet in the air. His face was crooked up to meet her gaze. A spike of heat sheared her scar. She refused to soothe it.

"It was a good run Dinah, but it looks like I caught up to you."

He brought himself to his feet. There was more meat on her torso. He looked _happy_: Dinah clenched her teeth.

"Nothing to say sweetheart? I ran all night to see you," He said nonchalantly.

"I could still hit you with a silver bolt," She pointed out.

"You've had every chance to shoot me and you haven't."

"Enough. Tell me how you found me. Then I want you to leave."

His teeth were showing through his spreading grin: it was so very wolf-like. "I found your scent at the next town over. I followed it here."

"You expected me to rip you to shreds the moment I saw you. Or—" He gauged her expression, "—something worse. I have better control over my instincts now."

"Good." Dinah said derisively. "You can leave me alone."

He shook his hair. "Not yet. I hoped we could have a talk."

He moved past her and into the cabin (much to her irk). There was one option for a lady-turned-rogue with an obsessive stalker: knockout potion. She slipped opium and hensbane into a cup of black tea. Ever the little sweetheart she handed him the cup. A few sips later he was an unconscious lump.

Two hours later Dinah rode in the back of a a kind man's cart with his border collie. She wore the strongest scent masking perfume she had: lavender.

She sat wide awake despite her tired bones dredging her down. A glimpse of white flashed through the foliage.

He bounded up to her with a whisper of crunching grass. Soundlessly and elegantly the huge wolf melted into a human. It was impossible to see when the wolf's paws lifted from the snow to become a man's hands. Tristan sat himself beside her. The dog snuggled up to him. Traitor

This was the last straw as far as Dinah was concerned. She took from her pack a compact. He watched her with an odd expression on his face.

"I thought werewolves could only transform during the nights of wolves' time," Dinah pondered out loud.

She quickly opened the compact. The cotton pad passed delicately over the slip of crinkled powder: never touching her skin or nails.

"Normally yes, with practice we can transform during the day of wolves' time too. I could show you-" The powder-puff swabbed his nose. A cloud of wolfsbane obscured his face. It would be poisonous if ingested.

The young man hacked. He gripped her shoulder, the two slid off the cart. "Not enough-" he coughed a puff of purple, "to harm me. You'll have to do better."

"Let me go!" The cart was gone.

"I'm not leaving until you hear me out."

Her greatest fear had been realised: she was alone in the forest with the big bad wolf.

"I'm not going to hurt you. Stop fluttering pup."

"Fine. It's not as if I have a choice when I'm being stalked by a peverted werewolf!"

He grinned with pointed canines. "I wanted to get your attention. Look, I can't help but notice your skilled with despatching supernatural creatures yet you live with so few belongings.

"_Excuse me_?"

"Hear me out. I can help you dip into mercenary hunting. In return I'd like a chance to redeem myself."

In the end logic won over her decision. She was scraping the bottom of the barrel. People had been unwilling to disclose hunts to her because they thought her indelicate. (This boiled her to the bone). Her choice was this: find a partner who could looked the part, in this respect Tristan was perfect, or, heaven forbid, settle down with a stable boy.

When she looked at him, his eyes bright with bleating hope, she didn't see a monster. Perhaps, a pearl of generosity fell from her heart. Perhaps she wanted him to make up for her chilling loneliness; that she believed in second chances.

"Fine. As my partner you'll obey my rules: you are not to come near me during wolves' time. We take equal share of the winnings and put some money aside for accommodation and injuries. You will be responsible for meeting the petitioners."

"You won't regret this," He smiled.

She already did. Tonight was the last night of wolves time. The thought of what that monster, in the guise in a seemingly earnest man, could do to her made her tremble to the core. Her face was statuesque.

"I have an errand to run. In the mean time you will meet this man and get the details of the hunt," She handed him the poster she had ripped from the tavern notice board. "Meet me at the castle tomorrow at noon."

Sarah would keep her safe. Dinah's visit was a long time coming.


	3. Friendship is the Balm

Chapter 3: Friendship is a Balm

In a little cottage off the beaten path, our heroine sipped tea with her best friend. Dinah swirled her teabag in her cup. Her eyes were downcast. "It's time. I need to know everything about werewolves."

She met Sarah during her most desperate days:

It took a month for the bite mark to heal. It etched her arm as a mangy reminder that she was alone and broke; along with the constant ache of her belly. It was impossible to estimate how long she wandered around the forest town. Her heart cried for help but her body wouldn't reach out.

White marble walls nestled in a field of wildflowers crept into Dinah's vision as she trudged an overgrown path. If she could feel anything other than crippling heartache, Dinah would have smiled at the bouncing colours.

"Are you alright?" An older girl piqued from behind a flower bed. She stood and dusted the dirt from her utility plain apron.

"...F-fine," the syllables dribbled from Dinah's lips.

"No, you're _not_," the girl pronounced firmly. "I'm Sarah Idris. I live here at the convent. Please come inside. We can help you!"

Dinah sucked in a breath and inadvertently sobbed, "No, you can't! You can't be around me, he'll hurt you when he finds me."

"_No one _will hurt you here. Mrs Volney is wicked with charms. She could teach you to protect yourself. Please come with me." At first glance Sarah seemed to be a complacent girl, but when she spoke to Dinah there was a hardness to her eyes and lips that bespoke stubbornness and valour. Dinah's pride and fear shattered.

The blond angel folded Dinah under her wing. If she was repulsed by Dinah's shaggy hair, torn shoes, blacken clothes or terrible stench, she hid it well. "My friend, welcome to the convent of Lady Clemency. We worship equalism. Have you heard of it? No? We believe in respecting each other and nature. We use simple magic and herbs to ease the lives of others..."

The rest is a story for another day.

"What changed you mind?" Sarah asked, her eyes flicked worriedly over her cup of tea. Dinah hadn't touched the range of nibbles Sarah had set out for her. Despite being a novice priestess, herbiest and exorcist, Sarah couldn't concoct anything that tasted good.

"I feel that it's time for me to prepare myself."

The priestess scrutinised her expression. The delicate tea cup was tossed aside. Sarah jumped on her tiptoes to reach the book tucked on the roof of her bookshelf."I took this book from the convent library, I knew you'd need it someday."

She flipped the hard cover of the small tomb. It was the same book Dinah refused to touch years 's soprano drifted Dinah into a quiet meditation.

'One upon a time, in a different land, King Lycaon ruled a kingdom of unspoilt beauty and agricultural abundance. Though he had fathered many sons and had earned the esteem of his people, he was unhappy. Lycaon questioned the Gods'supreme power. How were they able to live forever sustained by worship? He reasoned that as a respected king he should have equal power. The many hours mulling these ideas were germinating into a love of violence and hate.

He plotted to test the god among gods: Zeus. He murdered his youngest son in his crib and had him prepared into a dish fit for a king. In the temple of Zeus, the night of a full moon, he prostrated himself at the feet of Zeus' statue. He presented the monstrosity.

Zeus was furious. He killed all fifty of his sons with bolts of lightning. The punishment to Lycaon himself was as barbaric as his ill conceived plan. Zeus cursed him into the form of a huge hideous wolf.

Children of the moon were Lycaons descendants. On the nights of a full moon they would take the same form Lycaon was cursed to die in. True loves kiss couldn't redeem them since the curse was ingrained in their ancestry. The insanity of their transformation could be controlled with pack structure and will power. Nonetheless they remained cursed by delivering the disease to those they love the most.'

"There you have it. When a wolf chooses a human mate it simultaneously drives them away yet enjoys the chase of hunting them down. Those most in tuned to their instincts will force their mate into transformation and to bear their young. Not all wolves are like that. A wolf who is human by spirit will never earn love because no one can love someone who forces them into a relationship."

It made sense. Tristan marked her because of a deluded sense of romance and lust. Redemption was a means to an end: her corset stings.

"I understand."

"I made up the guest room. I know you love living from your earnings but you can come here any time you like. You should _stay _here. It'll be like we were back at the convent!" She giggled.

"I wouldn't want to bother you. You have your studies, I have bloodthirsty monsters to kill."

"Don't ever feel like you are a burden. I'll show you a perfume I invented which should mask your change of scent during your heat cycle."

Dinah winced: it was a rare slip of fear. Sarah squeezed her hand. "You can come here every full moon, I'll protect you."

At midnight she snuck past Sarah's room, her friend's soft breathing assuring her that she was asleep. Dinah sat on the garden bench. Her crossbow sat on her lap. Past the silver line that circumnavigated the garden, which glimmered with magic, a white monster watched her. She was aware that he could cross the line. Sarah was not a powerful witch; but Dinah was never one to show fear when staring at the blade of a knife.

"I should hate you," She said vehemently, "I wish I did because then I wouldn't feel like a traitor to my family."

When he sat this close and unmoving Dinah could see the terrifying details that haunted her nightmares. He was far larger than a real wolf. His yellowed claws, incisors, shaggy fur and black lips struck her with disgust than fear.

"_Why_? Why did you take everything from me then waltz back into my life like a fairy tale hero? How do think I feel about that."

The wolf rolled his head over the grass. She understood some of their 'language', if phrases gesturing what the wolf wanted to do could be considered speech; he didn't have an answer. Dinah wondered if he would have been silent as a man too.

"Of course you don't know. Monsters can't feel sympathy."

There was a fire behind his eyes. He silently raised to his feet. Dinah watched him disappear into the forest


End file.
